A friend moved away last week.
I walked over to say goodbye. Once I got past the movers and boxes, I found her in the front hall. She had that look. The one that says “This move sucks ass, and I’m done even though there’s 6 hours of packing left, and it’s too hot for this shit, and I’m about an inch away from saying fuck the whole thing.” I backed out the way I came in, offering the only thing I had: my services as a babysitter for her daughter.
She took me up on it the next day.
My daughter and I walked over to retrieve her daughter. The two girls and I made some lunch, drew some pictures, read some books.
That took up a grand total of 20 minutes.
Even though it was hotter than a crotch, I decided to take the girls for a walk. Luckily, 2 year olds can make an adventure out of anything. And there were plenty of lessons to pass the time, like: pine cones = good, cigarette butts = bad.
A sweet little old lady came up behind us.
“Oh, what cute little blonde sweeties!”
I smiled. (If I agreed, did I look conceited? And I could only take credit for half the cuteness.)
“Are they sisters?”
“No, no, just friends.” They don’t really look alike. My daughter’s built like a very small linebacker; her friend is very petite, a head shorter and 15 pounds lighter.
“How old are they?”
“Both 2. They were actually born 2 weeks apart.”
“Oh! So they’re TWINS!”
I could hear my brain saying “Fuck this. You wanna do the mental handsprings necessary to get Grandma to understand how messed up her logic is, go hard. I’m outta here.”
I smiled again.
She keeps grinning at the little angels for a minute. Then she turns back to me:
“Are they identical?”